


Do I Wanna Know?

by Jani_Tomb



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Far From Home
Genre: Delusion, Jealousy, M/M, Mild Blood, Obsession, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 11:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30139182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jani_Tomb/pseuds/Jani_Tomb
Summary: Maybe their two story house is a little too big, if Beck and Peter manage not to run into each other at all in it.
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 13
Kudos: 16
Collections: SSBB Marvel Bingo 2021





	Do I Wanna Know?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harishe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harishe/gifts), [mikazure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikazure/gifts), [andthwip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andthwip/gifts).



> Oh, look, I _do_ write sometimes. Would you look at that.
> 
> Titled inspired by Arctic Monkeys, fic inspired by the fun little shadows that sometimes join me when I’m showering in the dark. Rated T for themes and language.
> 
> This oneshot brought to you by the Possessive Behavior and Abuse cards on my Bigo card.

Beck was an excellent liar, and if he so wished, he could fool anyone he wanted to. Perhaps, if he was persuaded enough, perhaps even himself. There were just some instances where self-deception was acceptable, even desired; necessary. Beck laughed in the face of psychology as much as he was fascinated by it, but he had to admit that no reaction was truer than the body’s instinct to protect itself. For man to be so connected in body and mind was an awe inspiring thing to Beck. How romantic it was for a woman to physically tear her heart strings apart in grief, or for a man to will himself dead after saying his final goodbye to his children. And just as the brain would train the body to do as it instructed, so too could the body trick the brain into pretending everything around it was normal. 

And that was how Beck found himself in the situation he was in, with his body seducing him to believe that the love of his life was still with him, that he had never left, would never leave. 

Beck was not ready to let go, and so subconsciously, he had convinced himself that Peter was the one calling his name in the morning, that it was his toothbrush on the counter by the sink, and damn it, how hard was it to place it back in the porcelain cup after he used it? Come on, Peter, Ben and May raised you better than that. And Peter, did you forget to put the clothes in the dryer last night again? Honestly, Beck had to do everything himself around this place. 

Beck chuckled to himself as he made his way down the stairs and into the little section reserved for he and Peter’s washer and dryer, flicking on the light switch and opening the hatch to the dryer before turning to do the same to the washing machine. Raising his arm to grab a fresh dryer sheet, he noted that they were running out—only about three pieces left in the box. “Babe!” he yelled to his lover. “Can you write ‘dryer sheets’ on the shopping list? Thanks.” Peter didn't answer, but he was probably too busy singing along to the radio while he was cooking breakfast. The shopping list was on the fridge though; Beck was confident that he would write it down on the pad stuck on the fridge anyways. Either way, sometimes he asked Peter to do him favors like that simply because saying things out loud would help Beck himself remember later. Heaven help them, that boy was always in his own little world. Beck was fine with it though. He loved taking care of his baby boy. 

He listened to the dulcet tones of Peter’s favorite playlist floating from the direction of the kitchen, a fun alternative rock mix of bands like Placebo and Arctic Monkeys. The volume was so loud that Beck could barely hear Peter’s off-key renditions along with the singer’s voices, but he knew that he was belting his heart out, as he always did. So full of life, honestly. 

Suddenly, the smell of burnt toast filled the air, and Beck quickly dropped the shirt he was transferring to the dryer (a plain black tee that belonged to Beck, but that Peter often liked to steal for himself. So many clothes that Peter loved commandeering—“Keep it, babe. Looks good on you.” “No, this is your hoodie; I’m just borrowing it.”) and rushed towards the toaster oven. 

He skidded to a stop right in front of the smoking kitchen appliance, grabbing an oven mitt and sputtering out a cough as his face was blasted with black tendrils. “Pete!” Beck cried out. “I told you the oven was acting a little wonky—you have to stand in front of it when you’re warming something up!” Ugh, sometimes Peter really just doesn’t listen.

It was so frustrating! Beck tried laughing at Peter’s antics, but his breaths weren’t high pitched enough, nothing more than a little exhalation, the smallest of huffs. He picked up the offending piece of charred bread, shaking his head. 

“One day,” he giggled, somewhat manic, “one day, babe, you’re going to set the fucking house on fire!” His voice escalated in volume, stopping just short of a yell. He groaned, inhaling deeply. Once, twice, trying to calm himself down. He had to keep his temper in check. 

He knew he had a bad temper, could even get violent sometimes, but he was working on it, Peter, babe, trust him, he was working on it. 

But he could tell from the state of the crumbing toast in his hands that he was, in fact, failing. His fist clenched so tight that his knuckles turned almost pearly white, as if the skin that covered his bones was nonexistent, as if he was just a skeleton. A shell.

The toast was ruined and Peter was nowhere in sight. Peter knew he fucked up and he knew that Beck would be mad at him for leaving the toaster oven on while he was away from it, however temporarily. His heart ached at the knowledge that Peter was terrified of facing him when he was angry. But he had to know, he just had to. Beck got so scared when Peter did something that was potentially dangerous to him. He could hurt himself! And then where would Beck be?! Beck couldn’t live without Peter, he just couldn’t, and Peter had to know that was the only reason why he kept such a close eye on his boy, his precious boy. 

“Peter? Peter, come here, now,” he demanded. He stepped out of the kitchen and into the hallway, calling out Peter’s name, sometimes calm and evenly, sometimes harried and just a touch frantic. Damn him for suggesting he and Peter purchase a two story instead of the loft that Peter originally wanted. (“It’s just us two, babe, we don’t need that much space.” “Peter, sweetheart, I will give you a beautiful house in the suburbs with a white picket fence and a dog and multiple guest bedrooms for May and Ned and our children.” “... if that’s what you want, Beck.”) There are so many places Peter could hide—er, so many places that Peter could be. 

He starts off at a steady pace, ducking his head into door frames, eyes sweeping each room with sniper-like efficiency, but no dice. Peter is so good at evading him when he wants to, teasing him by running away, giggling as Beck tries to catch up with his love’s nimble steps. 

But Beck isn’t in the mood to play right now, and Peter knows it. 

“PETER,” his voice booms, even louder than the radio, still trilling away in the kitchen. No answer. 

“AUGH!” Beck yells, his frustration finally bubbling over into proper vexation. He swings his arm wildly, his hand catching on the nearest available item in close proximity, which happens to be a picture of him and Peter. It crashes to the floor after bouncing off the wall, shattering the glass in the frame and splintering their smiling faces. For a minute, Beck stares at the photo, remembering the day it was taken. (Peter and Beck at an amusement park, standing in front of the ride that never failed to make Beck dizzy. The perfect selfie, but how could Beck expect anything less from his perfect photographer boyfriend? “Okay, now let’s get in line babe! Ugh, I love GravityZone.” “Hon, you know these rides make me sick.” “Oh, right… well, I can go by myself, it’s fine.” And Beck would have let him… if he hadn’t seen the way people were looking at Peter from in the line. Like they wanted to eat him up. The animals. He grips Peter’s hand a little tighter. “Let’s just go another round on the Ferris wheel.” “... okay.”) 

He tries to pick the thing up, but he’s trembling now, because… because the memory is so dear to him. He just loves Peter so much. Happy, enigmatic, beautiful Peter. His Peter. His boy. 

His finger catches on a stray shard, drawing forth a deep red bead of blood. It doesn’t flow anywhere, just peeks itself out of his skin, balancing on the pad of his pointer. Beck stares at it. Red is his favorite color.

He squeezes. He wants to see more of it. Red is his favorite color. When one finger isn’t enough to draw more out, he takes two fingers from his opposite hand and squeezes even harder. The blood has pooled enough so that a tiny rivulet drips down the side. All too soon, it’s drying again, staying inside his body, denying him it’s beauty. Such a shame. Red is his favorite color. Peter likes blue, but… Beck really likes red. It’s his favorite color. 

He sticks the digit into his mouth and settles himself into a sitting position in the hallway. Peter isn’t answering him right now, but suddenly, Beck is too drained to go on checking more rooms. So he waits. He waits for his boy to come out from out of the shadows. Waits for him to stop playing his childish games. 

And they really are childish. Beck smiles, recalling that Peter’s boyishness was what attracted him to Peter in the first place. His worldview was so pure, so innocent; no one was as unwrinkled and unblemished as Peter. His mind worked in ways that even the most intelligent men in his company couldn’t comprehend, but he stayed, in so many ways, a boy, with his childlike wonder. 

But there was a time to act silly and a time to act like an adult, and Beck made himself a promise to help Peter see and differentiate between those times, often. He showed Peter the proper way to dress, the right people he should talk to, he intervened when Ned took the Star Wars obsession a little too far. (“It isn’t good for you to be playing with toys at your age, Peter.” “We don’t play with them, Beck, we build them and Ned displays them, it’s actually really calming—” “You’re a college student now; put the damn toys away!”) There was such a stark difference between who Peter was before he and Beck got together and who he was now. Beck was so proud. 

It was interesting, though. Peter _had_ changed, Beck reflected. He had changed so much so that he even started acting mature behind closed doors, when it was just the two of them. Beck actually sort of missed his antics.

So then why was he being so quiet right now?

Beck looked at the hand that hadn’t been poked. Pieces of burnt crumbs still stuck to his palm, and he wiped them off on his jeans. They joined the shattered glass on the floor, and he knew he should clean it up, but getting up meant risking Peter stepping on them while he was away, and he couldn’t have that. 

“Okay, babe, I’m sorry, I didn't mean to yell. I… I broke some glass, could you grab the hand vac for me? Please?” He calls out, his voice a measured one again. “Please?” 

No one answers back. 

“Please?” 

The shadows on the wall show the cars passing by on the road outside, people jogging with their partners, dogs barking at passersby. There’s a rustling at his window, and it’s probably a squirrel on the tree outside, but it’s the closest sound in range he hears besides Alex Turner in the kitchen. 

“Please?” 

_(“Please, please, stop, Beck, I didn’t mean it like that, I was just—” “Stop. Trying. To JUSTIFY YOUR ACTIONS! Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing?! Do you think I’m blind, that-that I don’t have eyes, or ears, or a fucking brain—” “We were just talking! He was telling me a joke, babe, it’s really funny, h-he said—” “SHUT! UP!” “Please!”)_

He’s crying now. Why? The salty liquid trickles down his cheek and gathers itself at the bottom, patiently waiting for more of its companions to join it so they can jump off Beck’s face and onto a new surface together. Beck leans his head against the wall and tilts his eyes towards the ceiling and lets them. Takes more deep breaths. Zones out. Reminisces. Peter.

He doesn’t know how long he stays in the hallway, only that every time he remembers to come back to reality, he consciously drifts back into his memories. Dates with Peter. Cooking with Peter. Making love to Peter. Comforting Peter. Holding Peter. There are so many snapshots of their life together. So much love. So much passion. 

Time has passed and it’s dark now. The entire day has gone by, which is fascinating to Beck. He hasn’t hungered or needed to use the bathroom or anything. How is that possible?

Probably because he was thinking of Peter the entire time. His wonderful Peter. His Peter is his sun and moon and air and water and food and happiness. 

Well, Peter must have known Beck was taking a day for himself earlier. He has most likely gone to work and left Beck to his own devices, knowing that the man enjoys his time for himself every once in a while. Thank goodness Beck decided on a career path that allowed him to work from home so that he knew exactly when Peter came back from work. Peter is such a diligent worker, and Beck makes sure that he always comes home right after he clocks out, so that Beck can pamper him to contentment. No need to go out with coworkers. Peter has everything he needs to relax with at home. They save so much money this way, too. 

Beck picks himself up from the floor, knowing that Peter will be home any minute, and will be in need of a shower. He divests himself of his clothes and steps underneath the scalding hot water. He blinks a few times, to adjust his eyes to the darkness. This is another way they save money—they already know where everything is in the shower, and keeping the lights off makes for exciting fun times besides. Hands over chests and arms and… seeing each other and exploring without the perfect clarity that comes with vision. Shadows.

Beck sees a shadow, now. In the corner. Flickering in time with the lights spilling in from the hallway from the crack that Beck has left in the door. Peter hasn’t joined him yet, but he will soon. Right now, he is probably looking between the shower curtains, watching Beck like the little pervert he is. Beck smirks. Peter loves his toned body just as much as Beck loves Peter’s lean one. He stretches his neck, allowing Peter to similarly make out his shape in the darkness, the broadness of his shoulders and the expanse of his chest. Puts on a show, grabbing the shampoo bottle that they both share and rubbing his fingers through his hair for his little voyeur. They used to have separate bottles, but Beck loves the smell of himself on Peter, loves that he can sit or lay anywhere in their house and inhale the same, familiar scent. They are so in tune with each other that they even share the same smell. It’s fantastic. 

Peter seems to be enjoying the show a little too much; he hasn’t made a move to join him yet. Maybe he doesn’t want to participate today. That’s fine with Beck. They can save their energy for the bedroom. He finishes washing himself then, sliding his hands down the plane of his torso, over his hips, between his thighs, down his calves. He rinses, thoroughly enjoying the continuous sting of the droplets on his skin. Another hilarious psychological study tugs at Beck’s brain and tells him that people take absurdly hot showers as another form of self harm, but that was ridiculous. The hot water simply calms Beck, that’s all. With Peter by his side, Beck has no need to hurt himself. 

He dries himself off and forgoes the clothes he placed out for himself, opting to wait in bed for Peter in just his boxers as a nice little surprise. Tucking himself into his sheets, he pushes himself closer to the middle of the bed, wanting Peter to know exactly how his bare skin feels when he crawls in after Beck.

But Peter doesn’t come in for some time. Beck lays there patiently, knowing that Peter will eventually come in, and that he’s probably in the bathroom right now, brushing his teeth or even prepping himself. He is so good with those things. 

Beck waits. And waits. And waits. And waits some more. He has been very good with waiting today. Soon, he finds his eyes becoming heavier and heavier. Peter sure is taking his sweet time. At this point, Beck’s built up libido has calmed down and he simply wants to curl up with Peter under the sheets. He knows Peter is probably not going to like that, seeing as earlier he worked himself up by watching Beck rub himself all over, but that’s just how it’s going to be tonight. He shouldn’t have taken so damn long in the bathroom. 

As Beck is thinking these things, he realizes that he can still hear music floating up from the kitchen. Did Peter forget to turn off the radio before he went to work earlier? How irresponsible! Beck will have to reprimand him and make him walk downstairs to turn it off before he goes to sleep. 

If he can muster up the energy to speak…

He’s so tired… 

Beck rolls over, getting himself more comfortable. The playlist changes to a song with a softer melody and it sounds like a lullaby. Beck drifts. 

Beck’s sense of responsibility makes him want to keep awake until Peter enters the room so that he can tell him to go turn it off, but, you know, if Peter doesn’t hear it for himself before he slips in beside Beck… 

Beck can always just tell him tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Join the Marvel/Witcher loving server that inspired this? 
> 
> https://discord.gg/UQzEbqn


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